There are only 8 people with my name in the U.S.A.

I think that makes me pretty special.

Living here in a vintage International Harvester from the 1940s, the derelict vehicle located twenty-five miles west of Healy Alaska as the raven flies, rusting incongruously in the fireweed beside the Stampede Trail, just beyond the boundary of Denali National Park. The engine is gone. Several windows are cracked or missing altogether, and broken whiskey bottles litter the floor. The green-and-white paint is badly oxidized. Weathered lettering indicates that the old machine was once part of the Fairbanks City Transit System: bus 142. These days it isn't unusual for six or seven months to pass without the bus seeing another human visitor . . .